The light from the narrow slit under the ceiling was gray today—apparently it was overcast outside. Anya was in a tiny cubicle screened off with plastic, where Viktor had set up a makeshift bathroom. There was only cold water, but it helped keep her from going insane.
She looked at herself in a small mirror taped to the wall. Her eyes were sunken. She looked like a shadow of the girl who had been walking home from the office three days ago.
Upstairs, the lock clicked. Anya quickly stepped out of the cubicle, trying to keep what little dignity she had left. She didn’t want him to catch her in there.
Viktor came down holding a tray with oatmeal and fresh berries.
“Good morning, Anya. I heard the water running. Good girl. Hygiene helps keep you sane.”
She deliberately didn’t sit down, staying by the wall.
“You’re an engineer, Viktor. I’ve seen how this is set up.” Her voice was dry. “The drain pump is hidden behind a panel. There’s forced ventilation. You didn’t do this in a day.”
He set the oatmeal on the stool, and a flicker of professional pride appeared in his eyes.
“I told you—six months. I worked down here on weekends. The neighbors thought I was building a workshop or a wine cellar. Well, in a way, I was. You’re the rarest bottle in my collection.”
It made her flinch, but she kept going.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Why me? There are thousands of girls in the city. Prettier, smarter—girls no one would come looking for. Why did you choose the one they’ll look for?”
He stepped closer, slowly. She didn’t move back, even though everything inside her was screaming at her to run.
“Beauty is just the surface. And I saw you in moments when you were alone. Remember a month ago in the park—you fed that mangy cat and cried? Not because you felt sorry for it, but because you understood its loneliness. That day I realized we were the same kind. You just needed a place where no one would hurt you.”
“And so you hurt me more than anyone,” she said with a bitter half-smile. “You locked me in a concrete box. You took the sky away from me. You think we’re ‘the same kind’? That’s parasitic, Viktor.”
His face twitched for a moment; the smile vanished.
“You still don’t understand the magnitude of the gift. But you will. By the way…”
He reached into his cardigan pocket and took out a small pack of vitamins.
“It’s spring. You’ll need vitamins. You can’t get sick.”
She looked at the vitamins, then at him.
“And if I do get sick? If it’s appendicitis? Or an infection? What will you do—leave me down here to rot, or risk taking me to a hospital?”
The pause stretched between them. He looked at her like she was a difficult theorem.
“I know how to operate—in theory. But it won’t come to that. I make sure you eat well. Take the vitamins, Anya. That wasn’t a request.”
She took the pack of vitamins. Her fingers brushed his dry, warm palm for a moment, and she didn’t pull her hand away. She looked him straight in the eye.
“And the books? The ones you brought… Jane Eyre. She ran away from the man who lied to her. Did you pick it on purpose? So I’d know there was hope?”
He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out if she was playing with him.
“No. I picked it because in the end she came back to him. When he was broken and needed her. You’ll come back too. Even if I open that door in a year, you won’t leave. You’ll just have nowhere else to go but back to me.”
He turned and left, taking last night’s dinner tray with him. Anya stood there, gripping the pack of vitamins. She felt she’d found his weakness: he wanted to be the hero of a novel, not just a jailer.